Gunpowder and a Spark
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: What if when they kissed in that miserable cell, it didn't stop? What if he didn't pull back and run as fast as he could from her. What if instead of running, the Doctor gave in to the inevitable? Some spoilers (particularly from Day of the Moon) but i dont think i touched on anything too major.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: Hello again everyone :D This is an M rated story for a reason, so fair warning before you go in. To my returning readers, thank you very much for your kind comments, it gave me the confidence to keep writing. so hopefully you'll like this little story as well :D _

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Chapter One

"Have I forgotten something?"

He questioned, moving towards her with an almost playful gait. The light from her cell was harsh, yet somehow it only flattered him, cut in sharp lines around his face as if framing it for her perusal. There is amusement in his eyes, a flash of contrived bewilderment and she cannot help but chuckle at him.

"Oh shut up"

Her hand darts out, sliding up and around the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, the kiss he forgot to give her. It was sweet, a warm touch in a place of such solitude. She'd longed for his touch, his kiss. At first he surrendered to her kiss, a little surprised at her forwardness, and then he starts fidgeting, not really fighting her, but he's not quite sure where to put his hands. His surprise is evident, and it's like a shock to her bones. They break apart, and then she remembers. She remembers as she stares up at his kiss swollen lips and slightly flushed face. Things don't always happen in the right order for them. They don't always meet at the right time in their lives. Has this ever happened before for him? Was this, at least in his mind, their first kiss?

She questions, half hoping he's just messing with her, "You're acting like we haven't done that before?"

But the way he fidgets, touching his face and his hair with frantic fluttering gestures tells her the answer before he manages to clear his throat, "We haven't."

All she can manage is a soft, almost horrified, "Oh."

She doesn't mean for it to sound sad. But it is. River expects him to run, so she isn't surprised when he takes a couple steps backwards, escaping her proximity. His eyes are sharp but confused, emotions warring for dominance across his face, gaze flickering back and forth so fast she's almost afraid he's having a seizure. For a moment she wonders at the requirements for treating such a thing, there wasn't exactly a compendium on Timelord illnesses after all.

And then he stops.

No noise, no motion. For a single moment he is the stillest he's ever been, her heart leaps into her throat. Has she messed up? has she screwed up her timeline and his? After all time can be rewritten. What if in making her move too early she's destroyed what could have been?

Then he does something she doesn't expect. He covers the distance between them in quick gliding motion, one hand gripping the bars of her prison cell. The other hand slowly reaching up to cup her cheek with a soft almost reverent touch. It's like he's seeing her for the first time. Like she's suddenly redefined the category he'd stored her in. And strangely enough, even though this is not the first occurrence for her, it feels new. Because the fingers that span her cheek are unpractised, soft but not as worn as the hands of the man she married. But they are the fingers of the man that she loves.

He should be speaking. That's what he does when he's nervous or unsure. Actually to be perfectly honest that's what he does most of the time, rattling off facts and stories at a mile a minute. Sometimes she thinks that he talks so much so that he doesn't have to think about where he's been. He can keep moving, keep running with his little box across time and space.

But now he's quiet. Studying her, focusing what seems to be the full extent of his brain onto her. She cannot help the shiver at that gaze. At being the subject of such intense concentration. Then ever so briefly his gaze dips to her mouth, his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. a movement that seems to be instinctive rather than deliberate. It gives away his thoughts. He's thinking about her lips, about the kiss they'd just shared. How it had felt so right, like they'd fit together like puzzle pieces. His body hovers just away from hers, barely a hairsbreadth away from her skin, the only point of contact that gentle hand upon her face. She can sense the energy racing through him, like he's a tightly wound coil awaiting the smallest catalyst to expend itself. It's a state she knows well.

It's the state he's in when he's about to do something stupid, brave and absolutely brilliant. His brain is running on every cylinder, dedicated to the problem of figuring her out. God she loves him when he's like this. Bursting with energy, almost about to fly apart. This is when he's at his most brilliant.

He speaks, "Geronimo."

And then leans in and kisses her. This time it's bigger, stronger, all shiny sensations and sparkling fireworks. His hand on her cheek slides back into her hair and pulls her against him. She certainly wasn't thinking about pulling back, about stopping this wondrous assault on her mouth. but part of her is excited by the thought that she'd have to struggle to do so.

Her hands fist in his jacket, holding him against her as tightly as she dared. Part of her is still terrified he'll run. That this will overwhelm him and he'll flee back into the Tardis and leave her here forever.

But he isn't running. The Doctor tastes unique, a tingle that isn't human, warm and sweet like a sugary candy that has the tiniest edge of sourness to it. It's damn near indescribable. She drinks from his mouth, determined to memorise every second of the kiss. Her body curls into his, the way she's always done. He seems content to kiss her, a hot languorous devouring that has every single sense on fire.

But she isn't some passive receptacle. No. that's the last thing she can be accused of being. She is the infamous River Song. And if there is something that she's always been good at, it's going after what she wants. Her fingers untangle from his shirt, slipping upwards, sliding into the short strands of his hair and pulls, ever so slightly. Their mouths part with a soft pop, and her eyes open quickly to see his face. She gets a rare opportunity to watch his eyes flutter. The long dark lashes framed against slightly flushed cheeks before his eyes open.

Their breaths intermingle. And it's like everything has frozen. There are a few moments in her life that she'd like to keep forever. Moments that she'll hold inside of her mind to carry her through the darker days ahead. Imprint them on the insides of her eyelids so that she can always see them. this was one of them.

His lips were a soft burnished pink, mouth slightly stained by her attentions. But his eyes, his eyes were always her favourite part. Because when she looked into those sad wise eyes, she can always see him. No matter the physical form he took, whose face he wore. His eyes gave him away. he was her Doctor.

"Ah. Okay. Interesting."

She cannot help but laugh an almost breathless exclamation of amusement.

"You always did have a way of understating things sweetie."

She's waiting now. Waiting for the panic to set it. but it isn't fear on his face. it's a flash of her doctor, her lover, and it's one of the best looks he's ever given her. It's a little bit of light hearted amusement mixed in with a wicked little smile and eyes darkened by lust.

"I know what you're thinking." She purrs, voice rich with amusement and arousal. His mouth opens for a moment, then closes.

"Lost for words? Five billion languages and you can't come up with a single thing to say. This is a momentous day, don't you think?"

"Oh shut up."

He kisses her again, and she's all too happy to comply now that he's giving her something far more fun to do with her time.

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_Authors note (addendum): See what i mean by the M? I hope you guys enjoy this little story and let me know what you think :D_

_~Madam Red._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She's drowning in sensation. His body burns, skin spine tingling hot where it presses against her own. His kisses are masterful and devouring, his tongue dances with hers in an age old rhythm, one that they share no matter what time frame they end up meeting in. Sometimes it's affirmed by a kiss, sometimes only by banter. But there is always a connection. He's her Doctor, and she's his River Song.

Suddenly he pushes his other hand into her hair, releasing his death grip on the solid bars of her cage. She is no less ardent dragging him against her mouth, fighting him with teeth and tongue, meeting him as she always has, on his ground.

They're backing up, stumbling backwards into her cell. His mouth moves from hers, peppering soft kisses across her cheek and down her neck. She gasps as he nips just over her frantic pulse at the base of her neck, his tongue soothing away the sting of the bite with gentle licking. Her hands are not idle, delving inside his jacket, to the button up shirt beneath it. The striped fabric parts willingly under her touch, and she's glad because he'd probably be upset if she ruined his shirt by ripping it open. As her fingers finally make contact with the skin of his abdomen she feels rather than hears his startled inhalation, that slight flinch away. But then he presses into her touch, silently encouraging her to continue. And she's never been one to deny herself the indulgence of touching him.

His skin is smooth, unblemished by the tortures of his past, unbroken by the battles he's fought. her fingers explore his abdomen, relearning the contours of this form.

The cell wall is startlingly cool against the feverish heat of her skin, and the soft sound that drops from her lips draws him back up from his assault on her neck to claim her mouth again.

She groans at the taste of him, and his hands slip from her hair down to her waist, pulling blindly at the fabric of her dress. She tugs at the top of his pants, trying to open them from memory alone. It wasn't going well, her frustration manifesting in soft eager noises that he swallowed as he continued his sensuous attack. Her hips thrust up against him, and he groans into her mouth, a tortured sound.

Finally the top button comes free, but before they go further she suddenly remembers, she's in a cell. There are cameras.

She pulls back just enough to mutter against his mouth, "Cameras."

He reaches into his jacket as his lips reclaim hers, pulling out the sonic screwdriver from the inner pocket and pointing it at the camera. It sparks in response, she knows they probably don't have much time before the soldiers come looking. But she doesn't care.

Besides, every inmate is entitled to a conjugal visit.

There is a soft clatter as he tosses the screwdriver aside, and if she'd been able to think she would have been amused. But his hands had already returned to her sides, running in tantalizingly firm strokes across her skin, down to her thighs. His talented fingers caught the edge of the dress, pulling it up around her waist. Her touches have an almost frenzied quality to them, like she can't be close enough to him, can't touch enough of him to satisfy her hunger.

She manages to, with his help, pull the jacket from his shoulders, throwing it behind him. The brief pause where his hands aren't touching her skin feels like an eternity.

Suddenly his fingers trace the edge of her underwear, lingering just above her core with a pressure that was just shy of what she wanted. His other hand pulled at her hair, tugging their mouths apart long enough to ask, "Are you particularly fond of these?"

His smile is sinful, and she chuckles with a shake of her head. The Doctor leant in putting his mouth next to her ear, "Good answer."

His voice is deeper, huskier than it was at the start of all this. It's such a wonderful sound that she practically convulses.

"Very good River Song, very, very good." He purrs into her ear, hot breath washing over the sensitized skin. his fingers stroke gently, tracing light patterns that make her hips buck in an attempt to increase the pressure.

"Oh you've no idea just how good I can be Doctor." she quips. His chuckle makes her shake, "I think I'm about to find out, don't you?"

"Only if you're very good."

"Hundreds of years to learn. I think I may have picked up something."

"You only _think_ you've picked up something? how sad."

She whined as his fingers stopped their feather light strokes over her core. Though the touch had been light it had at least been something where she needed him. Her mouth parted to reprimand him as he drew back, watching her face. But before she could summon the words he pressed firmly, a long caress that rolled her hips and sent her mouth seeking out his neck as she fought not to keen. This! this was what she wanted, the touch she'd wanted from him. not gentle touches that acted as if she was a delicate statue that could be shattered.

"Was that sad River?"

He teased, and she thought it was very unfair of him to do so when his fingers were doing wonderfully wicked things to her. her tongue darted out, tasting the skin over his pulse point. Sweet but slightly salty. She breathed over the dampened skin, "only if you stop sweetie."

He shivered and bucked against her, hips snapping forward before he could control himself.

His hands relocated to the fabric of her panties, gripping them tightly before pulling roughly. The delicate fabric split under the sudden pressure and he tossed the remains to the side.

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. She can feel his hearts racing, can almost see the pulse thundering in his neck as she brushes against him. her hands free him from the confines of his pants and she almost groans at how hot he is in her fingers. He makes a choked sound, a sound of pleasure he tried to supress. But she doesn't want him calm, or detached. She wants him here, living in the moment with her. Without prompting she lifted one leg, securing it around his waist and forcing him closer to her. Positioning him right at the place she wanted his attention most.

"Have I ever mentioned how wonderful I think your legs are River?"

She pulled back to grin at him, "Not today, But I'm certain you can show me."

He reaches down, grabbing her wrists and pressing them against the wall at her sides before kissing her almost desperately. As if he's trying to breathe her in, to devour her entirely.

The Doctor pulls back, looking into her eyes, "Are you sure?"

But what he's really asking is 'Is she with him or with his future self?', 'is this what she really wants from him? even knowing it could be a very long time before it happens again?'

She fights to free her hands, and he lets her go, watching her with an almost animalistic heat. But there's a shade of panic and fear in his eyes. her fingers cup his face, keeping his gaze locked with hers, "I'm sure, I'm here with you, My Doctor."

The panic and fear disappears, and his smile is bright, "My River."

She wasn't watching his hands, so she didn't notice him positioning himself against her core. Of course she'd felt pressure there, but it hadn't changed in a significant way and she'd been rather occupied. But now as his words dripped like honey from flushed lips, he thrust forwards into her. And it's like she's complete again.

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_Authors note: Sorry about the confusion but this will be multiple chapters :D Hope you liked it, if you did drop me a review, let me know how i'm going :D_

_ta ta for now,_

_~MadamRed_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He feels like lightning. Hot and sharp, filling up her insides in swift powerful strokes. She's not sure if she'll survive it. They're both slick heat and tense muscles. She doesn't care if they're up against the wall of her cell. Or that her leg was starting to cramp from balancing on one slender high heeled shoe. All that she cares about is the delicious friction he's creating as he slides into her, about the spine tingling noises that dropped from his lips against the skin of her neck in breathy pants. She can feel every thrust of his hips like a melody cast over her skin. Her entire body was awash with fire. One hand clutches at him, fingers digging into the pale skin of his back, holding him as close as she can physically manage. The other is tangled in the short dark locks, twitching with every toe curling hitch of his hips.

Her head rests against the wall, thrown back in agonised ecstasy. Voice dropping in and out as pleasure overwhelmed her senses. She wasn't even sure what she was saying anymore, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with him not stopping what he was doing. She clenches her muscles, and is rewarded as he groans loudly. He mouths up her neck, finally catching her lips and swallowing her softly muttered words.

As if he can read her mind, and knowing it's the doctor she wouldn't exactly put it past him, his hands slip under her thighs and shift her, lifting her so that she can wrap her other leg around his waist. She whimpered at the change, it feels like he can get so much deeper now, like he's reaching places he shouldn't be able to. He hammers her, slamming against her with almost painful thrusts, like he's trying to nail her to the wall.

She pulls back from his mouth, suddenly desperate to see his eyes, those perfect old eyes. Her hands frame his face, his eyes fluttering open in slight confusion. It's her doctor staring back at her, the timelord with whom she'd danced through centuries. The confusion melted away, replaced by a warm affectionate smile.

He does something, twists his hips or rises up on his toes, she isn't quite sure and she can't find the effort to try and figure it out, because his next thrust damn near makes her black out. She feels the friction all through her, his heat inside her. It makes her entire body tighten, her brain short circuit as she tries to stay conscious through the waves of sensation. His eyes flicker with a gleam of very male satisfaction, it makes her smile.

It's building. She can feel it. The ultimate crescendo they've been playing towards. A tightening of muscles almost to the point of pain, yet somehow wonderfully addicting. She almost wants to say stop. To say that it's too much, too bright and the song far too intense to be survived. But before she can, it swallows her up and she comes apart in his arms. The world is reduced to nothing but light and mindless sensations. She can feel him within her, chasing the pleasure she's feeling. And when he shatters, their voices mingle in the solitude of her cell.

She keeps her eyes open, determined to remember every inch of this moment. One thing she does notice, even through the fog of satisfaction that fills her veins like liquid gold and erases almost all rational thought, is how beautiful he was when he was lost to pleasure. His hair is mussed, sticking up in odd places, eyes dark with sinful thoughts. His face flushed, jaw slack in exultation. It is this moment she treasures most. He lets down his guard, there's no daleks, no silence, no Time war crimes. All there is, is sensation and connection, sex and heat.

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_Authors note: WOW i am so sorry about not updating for this long, i went on an unexpected holiday journey and simply didnt have the time to write anything. i hope this makes up for it. I know it is kinda short considering the length of the last two chapters. but what can i say :D_

_Anyway i hope you enjoy, and you can forgive me :D_

_As always, please let me know what you think :D_

_~MadamRed_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

He manages to stumble to her small prison cot, falling upon the rough fabric in a tangle of pliant limbs and gasping breaths. His head ends up on her breasts, body still cradled by her legs.

The harsh prison light cuts across his skin, making him seem paler than usual, ethereal almost. It's not exactly the most comfortable position for her, and for a moment she's tempted to move. But then she feels his breath slow, the ragged pants smoothing out into a gentle even rhythm. The relaxation of his body tells her that he's fallen into a light doze. And she doesn't have the heart to wake him. How long has it been since he's allowed himself to sleep? How long has he been running from the nightmares that torment his subconscious? How long has he been going this time? Sustained by some mystical stamina that she's never seen matched.

Her fingers drift across his forehead and into his hair, smoothing the dark tussled strands away from his damp face. It's a tender gesture, and his mouth curves ever so slightly in his sleep. There's a wonderful ache in her belly, and her neck throbs from his all too vigorous attentions. She just knows that there's going to be a mark there. She treasures such things. These small temporary reminders. Because while he gets to leave, to have adventures and skip through time and space, She cannot leave this prison cell, trapped here for the ultimate crime.

It occurs to her then.

Fireworks. That's what they are. What they've always been, gunpowder and a spark.

When they're together they're brilliant, flashy and absolutely uncontainable. But they're never together for long. Time gets in the way and sometimes the gunpowder goes untouched in her cell and the spark flickers and burns alone. But when they meet?

God, when they meet.

It's the best thing she can imagine.

And it's not even the novelty of it being him, of it being her doctor. Of it being the impossibly bubbly and complex man that sometimes knew everything about her. it's the way they click together. Like they just fit into the spaces of the other, and not necessarily just in the crudest meaning.

Because everyone else doesn't understand. They can't because they're limited to one time frame, one life. They cannot understand what it's like to spend their whole lives dancing like binary stars. Forever hovering, spinning just out of reach, living for the few moments when they brush together.

That's the thing about them, they are a tragedy. Gunpowder and a Spark destined only to have the briefest of times together. Moments snatched in a shower of brilliant multicolored lights.

Such thoughts make her sad, make her long to take him in her arms and hold on. to make time and fate rewrite themselves so that she can stay with him. to stop dancing alone and finally be part of the crescendo of his life. But she'd never dare. The stories they've had, the lives they lived, she wouldn't change one word. All of them were so important. Like diamonds gathered to her skin.

The only thing that grants her solace is the knowledge that it really isn't about the length of time. She knows she could live a thousand years and never feel so alive and so complete as she does in his arms.

It is only in the dark, alone and waiting that it gets harder to remember that.

He makes a soft sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, disturbing her from her thoughts. His arms tighten briefly around her as if he can sense her distress and wants to soothe it.

When he woke he'd return to the Tardis, the swagger back in his walk and the light back in his eyes. He'd go and have his adventures. And she would wait here, waiting for the next chance to leave.

Waiting for the next chance to burn with him.

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_Authors note: Well, here it is, the conclusion to Gunpowder and a spark. i actually rewrote this a couple times before i was satisfied enough to put it up here :)_

_I hope you guys like, and if i havent responded to your reviews then i am dreadfully sorry, my replies were getting this error message (which i didnt see till later). _

_If you have any thoughts, please don't hesitate to leave me a review (even though this story is complete) i just adore reading them :D_

_ta ta for now_

_~MadamRed_


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